Sleeping in Bon Temps
by don't eat no biscuit
Summary: Sookie is visited by demons in the night- ones more sinister than the demons of her waking life.


She slept, wandering through warm, dark places, smelling something warm and clear and floral. Her muscles were young, and her joints were fluid, and there was no tension in her body. Her heart beat slowly, and Sookie could hear the blood pumping in her ears. She found him lying on some platform, floating in hazy darkness. She blinked at him, languidly, her brain foggy.

She was watching Bill sleep, she supposed, with his arms crossed over his chest as though embalmed. The effect was unnerving, and Sookie felt a sense of voyeurism—that she should not be here, watching him sleep, but he looked so beautiful and peaceful.

It was cold suddenly. Sookie looked away for a moment and when she looked back, her eyes were filled with the beasts, Lochlan and Neave. She shrieked, bewildered and frightened, but they did not look at her. They looked at Bill. Neave seemed to mutter something, and suddenly they were at his face and chest with a pair of razors, the same razors that had mutilated her, Sookie knew.

And she began to scream in earnest now, because Bill would not and could not move. The sky was so black, and yet Bill did not move—why was he asleep at night? Sookie was running towards him, trying to run, but thin silver chains were holding her in place, and now that she noticed them on her body she felt her flesh charring. There was no way for her to remove him from this place. She would only distract them, she realized, and she thought that was enough for now. She just needed to drag them away from Bill, away from his cold, pale, defenseless face.

His face, Sookie thought, and she saw cold blood leaking from the wounds on his face. But still he did not wake, and he did not heal. He was truly dead, Sookie thought fearfully, illogically. She could not make sense of what she saw before her, and her muscles were weakening as she ran against the silver chains, and her lungs sucked in less and less oxygen.

But suddenly, as though by divine providence, Lochlan and Neave were gone. Sookie breathed once, harshly, and found herself moving closer and closer to Bill. Though the chains still bound her, she was close enough to touch his hair and stroke his face. She must keep the iron—not the iron, the silver—away from him, she instructed herself sharply.

And suddenly, inexplicably, "I think the little waitress would like to do a very human thing with Bill." Sookie gaped, horrified. Diane's voice, somewhere. But Diane was dead, and when she whirled to locate the woman, there was no Diane, only Debbie Pelt, leering at her. Her eyes were black, as a pixie's eyes were, and they were feral like the eyes of all vicious things.

And Bill's eyes snapped open, and his face contorted, and he looked at Sookie with a look of such pain that she howled and clawed at her silver constraints, but it did not matter, because she was in the trunk of a Lincoln in Mississippi.

And Bill was upon her, and the silver chains crisscrossing her flesh scorched both of their flesh as he struck, and she tasted the blood of a vampire in her mouth. She was drowning, drowning, and there would be no oxygen soon, but still she screamed and ripped at his face with fistfuls of burning silver.

"Sookie, Sookie, I've got you, you're dreaming," Bill was pleading. Sookie opened her eyes and was astounded to find herself in the warm, dark, comfort of her own bedroom. She realized that Bill was awkwardly pressed against the headboard, cradling her, and completely suppressing her movement. She had been fighting mightily against him, trying to flail her arms wildly, grasping at nothing. He looked at her, a mixture of concern, fear, apprehension and dismay scrawled across his face.

She clutched for him as feebly as a child, crying out of relief. "Sweetheart?" he asked uncertainly, shifting to let her press herself to him. She rubbed his chest with her cheek, still yearning to be closer.

"Oh, Bill," she said, hoarse, shuddering violently. "That was such a nightmare,"

"I have you," he offered, not having relaxed his grip on her. He kissed her hair and buried his nose in it.

Sookie was content to quiet herself in his arms for a long while. When her panic had subsided, she looked around in the darkened room. She assured herself that she and Bill were safe in her bed, and that he was not tortured, and not hungry, and she was still human, and no silver chains bound her. Diane was dead, and Debbie Pelt was dead, and Bill had helped kill Lochlan and Neave, and he was holding her, pressing her to his chest.

"How did you get in?" Sookie inquired after a moment.

"I smashed a window," Bill replied easily. Sookie met his gaze sharply, and she felt his low rumbling laugh. "No. Spare key," he reminded her. She tucked her head under his chin again.

"How did you know?" she asked quietly.

"I heard you," he said gently, after a second's pause. From his house? That was... either impressive or unconvincing, Sookie thought. Not unless he had been closer.

They sat like that for what seemed like an hour, until Sookie felt herself drowsing again. Bill moved slowly, shifting her gently off of him, to tuck her back into a sleeping position. He was going to leave, Sookie thought, and the idea was repugnant to her suddenly. "Don't leave yet," she mumbled as his hands left her. "Please."

He said nothing, just moved quietly to lie pressed against her back. His cool arm crossed her stomach, and she felt his lips on the top of her head again. It was much easier to fall asleep with him here, Sookie thought, in the fleeting, decisive simplicity that dwells between sleeping and waking. And then thought left her entirely.


End file.
